The Puppeteer
by emrosee77
Summary: Strange disappearances, videos, and crime scenes, puzzle the BAU members as they try to find a man who calls himself "the puppeteer", and this show is no Pinocchio. Pretty neutral in the beginning, but it concentrates more on Prentiss and OC at the end.
1. Chapter 1

Grayson Brass stared up at the black ceiling as she lay in her bed. She could feel the zipper of her leotard pinching at her back, and her tights rubbing against her skin and the cheap bed sheets. She glanced at the digital clock on her desk; the luminescent green numbers read 11:30. I t was time to make a break. She carefully slipped out of her bed and crept toward the wall, Grayson pressed her ear against it. The thin walls gave an easy listen to the other side. The TV was off in the other room and she could hear the shallow breath and soft snore of a deep sleep escaping from the person in the bed, her mother. Grayson scooped up her dance bag, slipped on her boots, and wrapped herself in an old sweater. She tiptoed to the window and lifted it up slowly, and then she maneuvered onto the ledge and leaped onto the lawn, dodging the shrubbery that lined the house. Thank God she lived on the first floor.

"He's at it again; they took a girl this time, discovered thirty minutes ago"

SSA Hotchner threw a folder on to the table in front of SSA Dr. Reid and SSA Rossi. The folder released pictures of a tangled and twisted body as it hit the table. Dr. Reid picked up one of the pictures and read the bloody murder victim's name of the bottom of the photograph.

"Delilah Brass"

It had been one hour since Grayson had reached the dance studio. She had finished her stretching, deep breathing, and warm ups, and now she was able to dance. The stereo was set to an alternative rock music station, so Grayson decided to try a new routine. She thrusted her chest forward to the music. She waved her arms to the rhythm and leaped and swayed with passion. She glanced at the wall mirror and watched her slender body conform to different shapes according to the music. It was a good night. Grayson twirled and then crouched close the floor, planning her next move; it was going to be the night she landed a jump she was working on. Grayson crosses the floor with swift glides, and then she prepared her landing spot and sprinted to the middle of the wood floor. She leaped in the air with amazing athleticism and grace. A few arm movements and a couple turns added to the difficulty of the move. It was almost time to return back to Earth, when a gunshot rang into the air and a deep raspy voice shouted,

"Get down!"

"I guess we are going to Ocean City."

The BAU team evacuated the room and prepared to board the jet.

Grayson crashed into the mirror and felt the shards of glass ripping her skin. She heard the crash, and then the footsteps of a heavy man coming closer to her. She saw a blotchy image of the pool of blood that surrounded her, mixed with broken pieces of mirror and the laces of her ballet shoes that had come untied. Then all her senses ceased and the whole world faded to black like in a Hollywood movie. Grayson had a feeling this one was not going to end well.

Dr. Spencer Reid took a good hard look at the picture of Delilah Brass. He has seen a lot, but this one truly hit him hard. Delilah was tied to a chair and drugged, then was shot in the head twice and the unsub had her skin ripped up. Then Reid moved to the next picture, a view of Delilah's back, the unsub had crudely scrawled a message into it.

"_The girl WILL be part of my show"_

Grayson drifted back into consciousness. She was in a cold dark warehouse. It reeked of rotting meat and mold. She drifted her eyes to her body. It was bloody. Very bloody. Her ankles and her wrists where shackled and chained. The chains were long so she could not see where they went, but Grayson was not thinking about that because she heard footsteps. They were coming close like in the dance studio, but this time she did not black out, she could see his face. Clearly. It was a mask, white with red circles around the eyes and a disturbing smile was painted on. The lips were lime green and purple and between them there were bright yellow teeth.

"Time for the show"

"Rachael Caraway, six years old, Caucasian, blonde, blue eyes, taken from her home"

"Jessica Lynch, eighteen years old, red hair, Caucasian, hazel eyes, taken from public park"

"Paul Dowry, forty- two, African American, brown hair and eyes, taken from a grocery store parking lot"

"Franklin Barnes, twenty- five, Hispanic, brown hair, green eyes, car was found on the side of the highway."

"Grayson Brass, fifteen, Caucasian, blonde hair, green eyes, taken from her home and mother was murdered."

The BAU team read the hostages' names of the growing list. They knew they were all connected because of a signature of the unsub, Hotchner explained.

"Each time the killer takes a person, he leaves a message that says that they will be part of his show. Caraway's was written in finger paint on her easel; Lynch's was scrawled into a tree; Dowry's, was written in blood on the grocery store window, Barnes' was written in bones of road kill and twigs in his truck bed, and the most brutal, Brass's was carved into her dead mother's back." The team glared at Hotchner, wondering what else he was going to say, and then he said the worst, "We have nothing so far."

The man in the mask pulled hard at the shackles making Grayson whimper. She was paralyzed. She could not feel anything and, she could not move a muscle, but the man in the mask was doing a fine job of moving her himself. He threw Grayson onto a stretcher and then, dragging the chains, pushed her into another part of the warehouse. When Grayson looked up next, she could see what he was doing holding up a thin metal rod and a surgeon's knife. She tried to scream, but she did not have the strength, and her mind was going a million miles a minute, thinking of what she could do, but the answer was- nothing.

Morgan and Reid were talking with the spicy tech girl Garcia via webcam. "Besides the city and the message, all of the victims had something else in common, they all were into the performing arts, and they were all noted as extremely talented actors, singers, etcetera. Little Rachael is only six and she has performed in high school plays with her big sister because of her singing talent, she also does pageants, such a cutie. Jessica Lynch goes to an acting academy in the area and has been in countless shows and she has been accepted into the New York Performing Arts School, Mr. Dowry is an established actor, having been an extra in several Broadway musicals, off- Broadway plays, and is a dancer in a local company. Frankie B., aka Franklin Barnes is a drama teacher at a local high school and he has had a good run in show business himself. And finally Grayson Brass, man she has a beautiful face! Anyway she is a dancer and actor in her high school, also dances outside of school, well she used to anyway, after her father passed away she stopped taking lessons, I guess money reasons."

"Thanks baby girl, at least we have some sort of connection" sighed Morgan and he looked at Reid with a questioning look.

"No problem sugar.", Garcia smiled and the laptop screen went dark.

They were taken too. A girl no older than seven, a read head in her late teens, a younger Hispanic man, and a middle aged Black man. They were looking up at Grayson, as if they were saying _welcome to hell_. All of their faces were painted with an array of bright colors, and they were dressed in disturbing and theatrical costumes and gold jazz shoes. They were all hanging from shackles, their feet resting on a grand stage, it was big, creaky and was painted like a funhouse. They were not dead though, they were very much alive. The read headed girl was facing the opposite way and Grayson saw her bare back and a line of crude stitches traveling down it. Grayson looked at her own arms and saw similar stitches lining her up and down the length of them. She glanced at her legs. Same thing. Thick stitches, like a shoelace. She could not bend her knee nor could she bend her elbows, and there was a brace on her neck impairing her from looking anywhere but forward. She was stitched up like a doll or a puppet. _Wait. That's it. Puppets._


	2. Chapter 2

As the team landed a worried Garcia popped up onto the laptop again.

"Whoa, Garcia, what's up?

Garcia just looked straight ahead, her eyes glazed and worried, lips pressed tight, and her hands were shaking and she shook her head and pressed a key on her keyboard. A horrifying video of what seemed to be a commercial, or a trailer for a movie took over the screen. Funhouse music blasted through the speakers and a man with a purple suit and a painted mask walked on screen.

"Welcome to the show. It will blow your mind!"

"What the hell…"

Grayson was being lifted off of the floor and hung like the others, but she was still in the middle of the warehouse. The masked man walked back over to her with a costume and makeup in hand. He unzipped Grayson's bloody leotard, she knew he has done this before as she could feel the crude stitches down her back, sting as they met the humid, dingy air of the room. She winced.

"Does that hurt?"

Before she knew it she was naked, in front of all these people, a tear streamed down her cheek.

"You silly drama queen… I'll make the pain stop."

He pulled out a needle and a rope. Grayson struggled to resist the drug, but the stitches pulled at her skin and she started to bleed. Pain. Pressure from a rope. A prick on the arm. Then black.

The horrific preview raged on the laptop screen. Bright colors, glitter, and living bodies.

"the best thing about this show is that they are real… PUPPETS ARE REAL!"

Following that statement was a huge fit of laughter, but no one in the BAU had found it quite that funny.

The preview was over and Garcia had popped back on the screen.

"You okay Garcia?" soothed Agent Emily Prentiss

"Yeah, it's just that girl is only six, and this psycho-crazy is… ugh, I don't know, will you guys just get him and get back?"

"Can you trace the video?" snapped Rossi from a chair next to the computer.

"I have tried but this thing is all over the internet, at least in places where people look for this kind of stuff, and so many people have forwarded it and copied it and the guy who made it was not connected to a single ISP, and whatever, and the video was sent to me from an anonymous email and not one I can crack so…"

"Garcia."

"I'm so sorry."

"Hey sexy girl, it's okay, we'll get him" reassured Morgan.

"Don't call me sexy, I don't deserve it. You guys do your thing and I'll keep doing mine. Love you" she flashed off the screen again and members of the BAU looked at each other in disbelief.

A sliver of light broke the blackness that appeared before Grayson's tired eyes. Soon that sliver became the warehouse, this wasn't over. The man in the mask had strolled right in front of his new puppet, and looked straight in her eye.

"Don't think that you are just going to stand here. There is a reason I use real people you see."

He walked to stage left and then dragged a black metal music stand, creating a piercing screech across the stage, then ceased as he placed it in front of Grayson. On the music stand was a script, titled "The Puppeteer".

"Memorize this. By tomorrow."

Now Grayson had a secret weapon, an eidetic memory, she could memorize these lines in ten minutes if she wanted to. She had been offered to go to many colleges because of her amazing memory, but she never went to them due to financial problems, plus she wanted the whole "high school experience". Her mother had cancer, and Grayson was determined to keep her alive. She tried to pay for chemotherapy by working at the dance studio, which is how she had gotten the key to sneak in at night. Grayson thought about her mother, what she was thinking, and where she thought she was. In fact, Grayson did not even know what day it was, or how long she had been here. She started to read the script.

"It's been over two days, there is a very low chance that any of them are alive", Dr. Reid spoke, breaking the bad news.

"Reid…"

"Sorry Emily but…"

SSA David Rossi interrupted, "the man is a psychopath, and he thinks that these people are objects, he does not want to kill them, so they have a chance, they may die because of other reasons, but he will not kill them on purpose. He wants them to be in his show, he has done his research on them, he wants them to be alive, that's his whole shtick, don't count them out just yet."

"Thank you Rossi", replied Prentiss

They landed in Ocean City, boarded their black SUV's and headed to the Ocean City police department.

Grayson had read the script. It was a horrific surrealist tale about a man taking over the world. He had the power to move anyone the way they wanted using magical strings. When his father had found out about his power he had banished him to a cave, and took the power for himself, but the son had made the father a puppet and made him kill all of his enemies, without the son getting in trouble. The son soon renamed himself "the puppeteer" and had created a gang of puppets to murder everyone. It was a sick child- like, tale, not well written nor a good subject, but Grayson had predicted the ending for herself. She was playing the love interest of the puppeteer, Leah, and had wound up becoming part of the gang, she would kill her daughter, and herself in the end. She had pieced together the other parts, the black man was the father, the other man and the red- headed girl were members of the gang, and the worst part, the six year old girl was… Kaya, Leah's daughter.

"Hello Officer Brent, I'm Agent Hotchner, and this is agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid. FBI, we are here for the trend of disappearances in the area. Do you have a place where we could set up?"

"Of course, I spoke to Mrs. Jareau on the phone, I have everything ready. Follow me."

The blue clad officer led them into a briefing room stocked with a white board, a map, a corkboard, and a large table.

"Thank you" J.J. had said as he walked out of the room.

Dr. Reid had pulled numerous folders out from his leather messenger bag and placed them on the table. He had started to take the pictures and tack them on the corkboard in chronological order. First was of an playroom, with pink walls, yellow tape reading "crime scene", and a purple chair that said "RACHEAL". Next a plastic easel with white paper and a message in blue finger- paint, "_thank you for your audition she will be part of my show_". After, came a picture of green grass and a swing set. Looking close at the swing set you could see marks in the sand, a sign of a struggle, and then drag marks. Next, he had put up a tree trunk with crude, deep gashes, spelling out, "_number two, I have found another actress for my show_". He pinned up another one, this one showing a parking lot of a local market. There is fruit and packages of meat all over the ground along with plastic bags, and a pool of blood. The next photo was of an open car trunk, and the next was of the market window, next to the 50% off cookies sign, in blood, "_he has been cast in the show_". The next was of a highway, and a pulled over red Chevy pick- up truck, license plate reading "DRMAGEEK" and a bumper sticker reading "I LOVE OCEAN CITY HIGH". Next was a shot in the truck bed, words in twigs and animal bones read "_the fourth one in the show_" and then the last three pictures, a teenage girls room with a small bed and an open window, then a woman, tied to a chair, murdered, and lastly the woman's back reading "_the girl will be part of my show_".

He pinned them up one by one, along with a photo of their faces attained by family members or taken from the house, placing names under each photo representing the victims, "CARAWAY", "LYNCH", "DOWRY", "BARNES", "BRASS", and looked at each carefully. He was puzzled, none of these people looked alike, lived in the same financial bracket or interacted in any way, besides the performing arts connection, he came up blank. _How are we going to find where he will strike next?_

"Dress rehearsal", boomed the man in the mask.

Grayson tried to maintain composure as she looked at the petrified little girl on the east side of the stage. She noticed that the girl was struggling to read the large script before her. A large screech rang in the dingy warehouse as the man in the mask had pulled the music stands away from everyone's view.

"Okay, act two scene one, the puppet gang, the father and, Leah and daughter. Action."

"Oh the masterful Puppeteer, he has made us part of his gang" the Hispanic man whimpered.

"We are now one of him" said the read- headed girl.

"Don't you even think of taking him away from me" Grayson managed to say.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I know he loves you. Look at you beautiful daughter you have made together."

"Speak fine child"

The timid and afraid girl stayed silent. Grayson's mind was reeling _Speak, Say something._ But the girl merely whimpered and burst into tears.

"Cut!"

The man shuffled from his spot on a metal chair to the stairs, then on to the stage. He had his beady eyes focused like lasers, through the mask, on the little blonde girl. The girl shook. Grayson wished she had a gun; she could just shoot the man before he did anything to hurt that innocent girl. He shuffled until he was right in front of her, her big misty blue eyes looking right at him. He placed one of his beefy hands on her neck, she trembled, and he placed the other on the side of her head, she squealed, her blue eyes as wide as they could get.

"Don't hurt her!"

"No! Stop!

"Don't do it! Kill me!"

_Snap._


	3. Chapter 3

Jennifer Jareau ran into the briefing room.

"Joggers just discovered Rachael Caraway's body in a nearby park"

Agent Emily Prentiss sighed fustratedly and buried her face in her hands. Dr. Reid looked at Rachael's picture on the corkboard. He picked up a black marker and scribbled the word _deceased_ on to her name card. Hotch then gave the team directions.

"Alright, Morgan, Rossi, go to crime scene. Reid, Prentiss, look at the body. J.J. please, keep the media under control, and I'll talk to the family. Okay, move out."

Everyone now knew the danger they were in. The four remaining actors who had just witnessed the murder of an innocent six year old girl glared at the warehouse walls and the chains hanging from the east side of the stage where the girl was, waiting for the man in the mask to return.

Morgan and Rossi heard the crunch of autumn leaves as they traveled from their black SUV to the crime scene.

"Well it's nowhere special, no messages, DNA, or any evidence" said a crime scene investigator to the two BAU agents.

"what was she wearing?" asked Derek Morgan.

"Um… nothing, she was covered in leaves, but completely naked, and there was smudged stage makeup on her face and her nails were painted."

Rossi chimed in, "he needs the outfit for the next victim, and otherwise, this shows that once the victim is dead, they are of no use to him, and he throws them out like garbage."

"Like a used toy"

Emily Prentiss and Dr. Spencer Reid pulled up to the morgue and got out of the black SUV, slamming the doors behind them. They walked in side by side and showed their badges to the receptionist.

"Caraway"

"Follow me"

The receptionist led them to a silver room. It was cold, and dead, much like its inhabitants that lined the wall. A woman in a white lab coat glared at the agents for a moment, then gave each of them two latex gloves, then proceeded to the wall. She placed her hand on the metal bar of one of the drawers, and pulled, revealing a small, fragile, pale body with light blond hair and a blotchy, purplish, neck. Emily Prentiss' heart sank as the drawer opened and Dr. Reid felt an unexpected raging anger toward whom ever had done this, one like he has not felt before.

"Sexual abuse?"

"None" replied the lady in the lab coat.

Dr. Reid pulled both on his latex gloves on and gently picked up one of Rachael's arms. He observed the one line of crude, thick stitches and then, right next to them, a small, professional, neat looking stitch. Agent Prentiss glared over Reid's shoulder and observed the arm as well.

"Care to explain?" prompted Prentiss.

The lady in the lab coat ambled over to the large metal tray, and carefully picked up a thin metal rod.

"We had to remove this, the person who did this…"

"Unsub"

"Right, unsub, had surgically placed these metal rods in her arms, legs, and back, so they would not bend"

Dr. Reid took the metal rod from her hand.

"He wanted to be able to control them; he did not want them to collapse. He wanted them sturdy"

"So he could control them like puppets" replied Prentiss.

The woman in the lab coat glared at Agent Emily Prentiss.

"Excuse me? Puppets?"

Loud footsteps rang out through the warehouse as the man in the mask returned. He wheeled a large crate behind him.

"There has been a slight change in the casting" he boomed, then he began to laugh.

The man opened the crate and picked up and unconscious, small, child, this time a boy. He carried the boy into another part of the ware house, and Grayson and the others knew what he was up to. Grayson began to cry.

"He is using then as puppets to feed a fantasy of his, not a sexual fantasy, but a fantasy in which he is the dominant persona in a given situation, the situation being this show that he puts on. This show must be perfect to him, that is why he picked out the best possible actors for the job, as in they all have some sort of involvement in the dramatic arts, this shows that he has been planning this for quite some time, in fact, probably ever since he was a child. Since this whole scenario is based of childlike behaviors, such as dress up, puppets, puppet shows, etcetera, we have concluded that the root of his organized killing is deep within his childhood, and this "show" is the way we are going to find out how he is going to plan everything, which shows us what he has been through as a child, which leads us to who he is, where he is, and how to stop him. Reid I am flying you out to Garcia, I want you to look into that video and try to come up with some sort of plotline to this "show" and start a profile. Morgan…"

Agent Hotchner was interrupted by a worried J.J.

"An eleven year old boy was taken, on his way home from school this morning and Grayson Brass' blood was found in a dance studio near her house, along with her dance bag and shattered mirrors."

"Morgan go to the scene where the boy was taken with Rossi, and Garcia look into the boy while Reid looks at the video and Prentiss update our board with any new information , J.J. keep the media under control, and keep them from printing anything, that might flare the unsub's ego, but send out an amber alert, just in case. I'll go to the dance studio"

"Yes, Sir"

"Got it"

"Okay."

They fled the room and waved goodbye to Reid.

Hotchner entered the dance studio and was greeted by two police officers and a dark- haired woman in a wrap sweater, tights, and ballet slippers. One of the officers put his hand on the woman's shoulder.

"This is Marisol DePonte and she is the owner of the studio"

"May I ask you a few questions?" Hotch inquired.

She answered with an "of course" and they strode toward a room in the rear of the studio, dodging several pieces of broken glass.

"How did you know Grayson Brass?"

"She is a former student of mine, a fantastic dancer, but her mother had gotten sick and she could not afford lessons, so she started working here, until she mostly stayed home with her mom."

"Did she have a key?"

"Why?"

"We want to figure out if the unsub had taken her here after confiscating her from her home, or if she was found here"

"I was supposed to take the key away from her after she stopped working here, but I wanted her to have it just in case anything happened, she would have a safe place to go, or if she wanted to continue her dancing…"

"So she could have gotten in?"

Ms. DePonte nodded her head and began to weep.

"She is most likely still alive."

"I really hope so, that girl had a bright future."

The man had brought the small boy up to the stage after he had been through the surgery, costumes, and makeup. Grayson guessed the boy was around nine or ten; he was petite so he could pass for seven. He was hoisted up straight, as the chains tightened. He whimpered as he slowly became conscious.

"Kaya is now Kyle" announced the man, gesturing toward the awakening boy, "but you still get to kill him". He touched Grayson's nose and his eyes got narrower through the holes in the mask, suggesting an eerie smile underneath.

Morgan and Rossi found themselves on a seemingly quiet street. It was lined with blue and white, two story houses, each with green front lawns and small colorful gardens. The sky was blue and the sun was out, creating a mild fall day. Everything would be peaceful, if there wasn't a cage of yellow crime scene tape that surrounded blood-stained concrete, and a hunter green backpack. The birds were singing, but they were barely audible over the sound of a wailing mother and a father doing his best to soothe her.

Garcia sat in the dark tech room and got to work, Reid had flew back to Quantico in order to have better equipment when analyzing the video, he played, replayed, paused, zoomed, and listened to the video over and over again, trying to find any sort of clue. He soon became frustrated and put his head down on the desk.

While Reid was trying to crack the video, Garcia was researching the boy. His name was Jude Henry and he, of course, went to an acting school outside of town and was a gifted singer. Garcia scrolled through images of him on the family blog, he was small, but still muscular, he had blond hair that was long for a boy his age, and blue eyes and he had the biggest smile when he was on stage. She looked at one of the plays he was in; he was front and center, singing a duet with an older girl with red hair. Garcia looked at the cast list, and to her surprise the red heads name was, Jessica Lynch! She scrolled through more pictures and found the leading man of the play, Franklin Barnes. She kept looking and she found Rachael Caraway was one of the children in the show along with Jude, and in the dancers list was none other than Grayson Brass and Paul Dowry.

"Reid!" Garcia squealed.

"What?" A startled Spencer Reid responded, as he jolted his head up.

Garcia did a spin in her chair, and rolled over to Spencer

"Guess what?" She took her hand and ruffled his already messed up hair, "I found another connection!"

"Really? What?" he probed, his eyes growing wider.

"They were all in the same production of _Les Miserables_ in local playhouse for a charity event on January 22nd and 23rd and 24th, 2010. My guess is that…"

"Our unsub was at that play" Reid interrupted.

"Hey smarty pants, I was going to say that!"

"Sorry" he smiled "can you get a list of people who bought tickets to the show, and don't rule out makeup artists, costume designers, set designers, ushers, stage crew, or anyone else involved. When you're done with that, cross reference those individuals with anyone with a medical background, the mortician said that the metal rods were cleanly placed inside Rachael without damaging muscle, bone, or nerves, so there must be some sort of medical training"

"No problemo Spencerrito." She laughed, "Or it could be bur-Reid-o grande"

"Penelope…"

She pouted her purple lips, rolled back to her screen, and began to type, as Spencer picked up his cell to call the rest of the team.


	4. Chapter 4

The warehouse was empty again. Grayson gnawed at her lower lip until the verge of bleeding, she tried to concentrate on her lip until a voice rang from the other side of the stage, the boy.

"My Name is Jude… Jude Henry."

His voice was high pitched, but it was clear, like a bell. His voice was actually sort of refreshing to Grayson. Despite the utter despair of his words, there was an undertone of cheer, liveliness, and innocence, and Grayson knew one thing, she had heard it before. As her mind raced, she heard another voice,

"I am Jessica Lynch"

"Paul Dowry"

"Franklin Barnes"

Grayson knew it was her turn, she struggled to speak, but mustered to spew the two simple words,

"Grayson… Brass"

Paul spoke again.

"We will get out of here… alive"

"Fat chance, you saw what he did to that little girl, one wrong move and we'll get our necks snapped like a twig…"

"Shut up! Jesus, Rachael, what is your problem, it's like you want to die!" Grayson pelted back at the snarky red-head.

"Chill blondie."

Grayson remembered something as the girl said "blondie". There was a red-headed girl that she had gotten into a quarrel with when she was a dancer in a community production of "_Les Miserables" _with a red-headed actress, she didn't know the girls name and she could not see the girls face now, so she was not sure. But it was worth a try,

"Did you do a community theater production of _Les Miserables_?"

All four of them answered yes, and then peered at each other, surprised at the connection and the sheer fact that they didn't remember each other.

Jennifer Jareau reached for the vibrating phone in her pocket and looked at the small screen,

_Garcia_

J.J. moved a 'out of place' piece of blonde hair from her face and placed it behind her ear. She pressed the green button on the phone and placed it on the desk in front of her and fellow agent, Emily Prentiss.

"Go Garcia. You got me and Emily"

"Well, I'm guessing that Reid has told you about our miraculous connection, but the case sadly isn't solved yet my fine furry friends; there is an uncanny number of people that have worked on this performance. Hundreds of actors, dancers, understudies, makeup artists, costume designers, set builders, directors, lighting, stage hands, ushers…"

"Garcia is this going somewhere…"

"Um, yes, sorry, all I am saying is that there are a lot of people, and also there were three nights of performances, each a full house, and that means over 3,000 people who watched the play, and I don't know if I can get all of these people names, never mind find the one that is our unsub. Sorry ladies"

Emily and J.J. looked at each other, then J.J. spoke into the phone,

"You are a miracle worker Garcia, I know you can do this, please try."

"Oh my sweet, when you talk like that I cannot refuse, I'll keep going, Garcia out."

The phone went black and J.J. put it back into her pocket. She looked at the evidence board, and then faced Prentiss.

"Can you tell me what we have so far?"

"Sure, evidence wise, we have two bodies Brass and Caraway, and we know what he is doing with the bodies, manipulating them and dehumanizing them, to fulfill a fantasy of his. We also have the video, but that does not give us much because the voice is corrupted and he is wearing a mask. We have his messages, which are his signature and the performing arts and _Les Miserables connection._ We know that he always keeps five people, and when he loses one he is quick to take another. He always takes people in the Ocean City area, and he is escalating and getting bolder."

"Okay, good, what don't we know?"

"We do not know his location because the video cannot be traced, and victim-ology is all over the place, he has Caucasian, Hispanic, and African American victims, of all different ages and social statuses. We don't know if he chooses specific victims or finds the ones most convenient to him, and we do not know his identity"

"And what do we have for the profile so far?"

"He is a male, strong enough to handle a full grown man. He most likely had an abusive childhood that somehow has a connection with puppets. He has been building this fantasy for a long time, and recently he has just gotten the confidence to pursue it, a stressor would not be something negative, if anything it is something that had given the unsub a major boost of self-confidence, letting him to believe that he could pull off this crime. I don't believe that this is giving him a sexual release, but that is not definite. His location is most likely in the Ocean City, Reid is going to create a geographical profile soon. He has to be somewhere big, big enough to house a stage, an abandoned theater, maybe, and he has access to drugs and surgical supplies. He has medial training and might have been a medical student…"

"Emily!"

Prentiss blinked her large brown eyes and spun around on her heels to face J.J.

"What?"

"Breathe."

"Oh, yeah, right."

The man came back moments later. He was carrying a woven basket filled with makeup, and carried it onto the stage. He looked at Grayson first, through the mask. Grayson studied the parts of the man she could see. His eyes were gray and blood shot and, his pupils were extremely small, making his eyes seem piercing, like needles; two long ones that extended from the pupil, ready to blind anyone that met his gaze. Grayson chanced it. She stared at them for an unnerving amount of time, until he blinked. She felt a strange sense of accomplishment, like a six year old that one a staring contest in the schoolyard. She moved her eyes to the open part of the mask, and could see small red veins that etched the skin around his eye and moved all the way to the cornea. It resembled an alluvial fan being viewed from above. Grayson also could not ignore the small scratches that she could see, most likely caused by the flying shards of glass in the dance studio. He was about three inches taller than Grayson, who was 5'5'', and maybe four to five inches above the floor, in brief, he was very tall. He took a thick finger and ran it down the bridge of Grayson's nose, and back up again, making her nose twitch. Then he arched his finger, so that the nail was facing down, and ran it down the bridge of her nose again creating a gash, and making Grayson wince. A drop of blood trickled down the gash and fell off the edge of her nose, landing on her lips. Grayson held back her urge to spit the blood right in his face; she did not want to risk suffering the fate that the small blonde girl had.

"You're so pretty… I wish I could just conceal you in glass and keep you forever…"

Grayson's heart beat like a drum, as her tongue tasted blood. She retained a severe face until a roar resonated from the other side of the stage. It was Franklin.

"I can't freaking take this anymore! Let us go you psychopath! Stop hurting the poor girl! And let us go! You can go to some freaking institution, I'm sure they will have some puppets there! You need help man!"

The man lowered himself to the floor and placed his mask- covered face in his massive hands. All was quiet for close to three seconds until the man rapidly rose from the floor, and darted toward Franklin, moaning and grunting. Rachael shrieked as the man grabbed the chain and wrapped it around Franklin's neck and pulled tight, Grayson could not squeeze a word out of her throat, she never knew a person's face could turn that many colors; he faded through red, purple, blue, then white, before having his head droop as the life left his body, eyes still bulging. Grayson could not take her eyes off the man; it was like there was a concrete brace impairing her neck from pivoting. Her eyes were as wide as they could get, and a cold shiver bolted down her spine. But then an even more disturbing event occurred, the man turned around and faced the two metal chairs below the stage, and between them was a camera, he stared straight into it and spoke,

"Enjoy?"

The word turned Grayson's shiver into a full tremble.

Reid and Garcia sat side by side in the tech room, and an alert popped up on Penelope's screen. She grabbed Spencer's bony shoulder and shook it hard, digging her orange nails into his sweater.

"Ah! Garcia, ouch, what's wrong?"

Garcia unclenched him, and pulled him closer. Reid rubbed his shoulder and looked to the screen, then whispered,

"Another video."

Garcia quickly called the other members of the BAU and soon had them on the other computer screen, Derek and Rossi were in their SUV, Hotch was at the studio, and Prentiss and J.J. were at the station, she pressed play. Penelope shielded her eyes but she could not shield her ears from the yelling, screeching, grunting, and choking noises blasting from her speakers. Reid, cocked his head, analyzing the background, while Prentiss, J.J., and Derek winced, Hotch kept his face perfectly still (you would think the screen froze if it weren't for the people in the background, and Rossi spoke,

"It's over Garcia… I'm guessing that we are going to find a body soon, and have another missing person"

Garcia peered over her hands, and looked at Reid. He gave her a concerned look, then a comforting smile. She patted his back, then sent the video to his computer.

"You have lots of work to do my sweet… but um, would you mind putting headphones on?"

He slipped the headphones on, and turned to his computer as Garcia continued sifting through names.

Hotch went outside the dance studio to call J.J.

"Hey, I want you on the news as soon as possible warning every person that was in that play to beware of themselves"

"Got it"

And he hung up the phone.

Within the next hour Prentiss was watching the TV in the station as Jennifer Jareau made her announcement.

"The FBI has confirmed that there is a man out there who it taking people, and this man is dangerous, so far he has only been taking people in Ocean City, and he has only been taking people who have participated in the January 22nd, 23rd and 24th 2010 production of _Les Miserables_, at a charity performance at the local playhouse. If you participated in that event, please be on close watch, and we have set up a tip line if you witness anything. This man is tall, maybe around six foot three, strong, white, and has only been seen with a white mask that has red circles around his eyes, purple and green lips, and yellow teeth. Please, I urge all of the citizens of Ocean City, please be careful, he may be on the hunt tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

He was out again. He had to be searching for a new puppet. Grayson glared at the empty chains in the middle of the stage, and knew that soon enough another man was going to be dangling from them.

"I told you." Jessica muttered.

"Hey. Don't go there." Paul hissed at the girl.

"Stop it! Stop! Stop! Stop!" cried Jude, who seemed to be the voice of reason in the situation.

"Sorry kid, but I did, I told you that we are not getting out of here alive and frankly I don't care, I don't want to go back home, I hate my life."

"Weren't you accepted into the New York Performing Arts Academy?"

"Yeah so, truth is, I wanted to be a lawyer."

"I know how you feel.", came a voice from off stage. The man talked in a deep, thick, sorrowful voice.

"I wanted to be a puppeteer, like my father. But he ruined my life. That is why I wrote the play."

Grayson understood now.

"But my dear…"

He walked on stage to Jessica.

"Dreams are shattered, broken, smashed, into little tiny pieces."

He brushed a finger along her cheek.

"Fragmented, until it is a fine dust."

"Kill me. Do it. I dare you. I bet you wanted to do that to your father, huh? Or did you? Did you kill him too? Look at me. Pretend I'm him."

"Jessica."

"Shut up! Look at me man. I am that broken dream. Instead of killing these people and trying to recreate your little fantasy kill me and let them go. I am all of the words your father said to you, the ones that brought you down, so go ahead and snap my neck, stab me, take it out on me, and let them go."

"NO! That's not how it works! You need to perform! You need to!"

He stumbled backwards, and sat down. He used his feet to push him off the stage. He landed on his feet, and staggered out of the warehouse, using a back door. No light came through so it had to be evening.

"Are you kidding me? What were you thinking?" snapped Paul.

"I was trying to help you guys."

Grayson choked on her words but managed to inject herself into the conversation.

"He would have killed you, and then have killed all of us, he would have gotten so angry and killed all of us."

"How do you know?"

"Just a hunch." Grayson replied.

Garcia was looking through yet another list of names, this time it was the makeup artists, and none of them had a medical background, neither did the directors, or the lighting crew, or the stage hands, except for one or two women, but Penelope quickly ruled them out. She was beginning to get more and more frustrated. Spencer looked at the screen and then nudged Penelope.

"please tell me you found something."

"maybe. It seems to be an empty warehouse with a stage built in it. The wood used to make the stage is old, it is most likely from a junkyard, or secondhand wood shop, and there are pieced of architecture that look to be from a funhouse, or a carnival of some sort."

Garcia was tapping away at her keys as Spencer spoke.

"There was a carnival there last year, but it seemed that one of the entertainers died on the job, so it was closed down."

"Who was he? How did he die?"

"Um…" she continued tapping, "James Dunfeild, age 61, he was… the puppeteer… DOB strangulation. Coincidence?"

" I dunno, did he have a son?"

"Uh, yes, Gene Dunfeild, age 42"

"Medical background on the son?"

"Already on it… he was studying to be a plastic surgeon in California, smart cookie, but he went missing in November of 2009, and turned up in Ocean City that December, and went missing again."

"Is he on your list?"

Thousands of names scrolled up and down Garcia's screen.

"Negative."

"Maybe he changed his name… Uh, search for anyone on your list that doesn't have any records, especially before 2010"

_Tap. Tap. Beep. Beep. Beep. Tap .Tap._

"1,396 hits, probably because of stage names, or unrecorded name changes"

"Can you search for a certain combination of letters?"

"Of course I can Boy Wonder. What letters?"

Spencer spelled out the letters.

"G-E-N-E-D-U-N-F-E-I-L-D"

"You could have just said Gene Dunfeild…"

"Garcia!"

"Sorry, touchy."

She typed in the letters and pressed enter.

_SEARCHING…_

"I got a Nigel D. DeGunef. No records at all, he was a makeup artist."

"It's an anagram all the letters match up! I think he's our unsub!"

Garcia and Reid looked at each other and their faces flushed, how were they going to find him?

Emily Prentiss picked up the phone that was ringing in her pocket.

"Hey Garcia, you got anything?"

"I think Reid and I found him! Well we think we know who he is."

"Hold on, don't say anything yet."

SSA Prentiss placed the phone on the table and practically sprinted to the other side of the meeting room. She stuck her head out of the door and saw Morgan, Rossi, J.J., Officer Brent and Hotch,

"Hey! Come Quick"

The team looked at the agent and could see the excitement on her face, they darted into the room.

"Okay, Garcia, go ahead, you got everyone here."

"Well Reid and I were looking at the video when genius over here saw that the stage was built out of old carnival setup parts. So we looked into carnivals and such and we found that a man was strangled at a carnival in Ocean City. This man was named James Dunfeild, and he had a son named Gene. They seemed like a happy family but you know me, I get to dig up some of the grime from under their fingernails. Anywho, James was actually the puppeteer at said carnival, but he hadn't started working there until 2008, but before that, when Gene was about seven, he lived in Paris, doing puppet shows for a living in the parks. While he was in Paris he was charged with abuse toward Gene, and they threatened to take Gene away, but the boy wouldn't testify. Then when Gene turned 18 he began doing puppet shows like his father but suddenly stopped, then he moved to California, and went to college, CSU to be exact, and James stayed in France, doing odds and ends jobs because he could not be within 20 feet of children under the age of eight. Then in 2001, James moved to Ocean City, and got a job in a warehouse, stocking trucks, while Gene studied to become a plastic surgeon."

The BAU listened intently at the words, their minds were racing.

"Well, James had gotten a job at the carnival in 2008 and went back to his favorite thing, puppeteering. On November 18, 2009, Gene went missing, as did a hearty amount of medical supplies. Gene was then discovered in Ocean City in December 2009, and James was dead the next month. They wanted to arrest Gene for the murder and the robbery but did not have any solid evidence."

Reid chimed in next.

"I am pretty sure that Gene had found the power that he was looking for when he killed his father and decided that he wanted to kill more, I also think that the play revolves around the killing of the paternal figure. I believe he wrote the play and then needed actors so he got the job as the makeup artist and changed his name to Nigel D. DeGunef. When he found the victims he wanted, he wrote the names down and then made his move on the first victim, Rachael Caraway in Febuaury.

"So are we looking for Nigel or Gene?" questioned Agent Jareau.

"That is the issue" Garcia sighed. "There is no record of either of them after January 2010. So we have no idea where they could be."

Hotchner looked at the evidence board with blaring intensity, Rossi watched him think. J.J. gnawed on her fingernail, and Prentiss bit at her lower lip. Officer Brent drummed one finger on the desk. They all didn't know where to go next.


	6. Chapter 6

"SENE ONE ACT THREE! NOW! ACTION!"

The man was undoubtedly upset, due to the previous encounter with Jessica, who remained alive and still pissed off. Grayson knew that the man had finally realized the reasons for which he created this mess. But now wasn't the time to dwell, it was time to perform.

"Down with him, the father. We must kill him. And we must do it soon."

"For he is evil"

"Pure evil"

"CUT! I WILL RETURN SHORTLY!"

His eyes shrunk to slits and stared at the empty set of chains hanging from the ceiling and over the stage.

"The little tiff with red over here almost made me forget I was supposed to pick up my newest puppet. Hm, shall I get a man again? No they are too much work, so strong physically, yet so awfully ignorant. Like my father. I need a woman, not a girl, a gorgeous _woman_ for my gang."

His eyes enlarged and he blew two kisses, one to Jessica and one to Grayson. Then he looked at the vacant chains and blew a third kiss toward them. Grayson felt as though she had been pelted with thumbtacks as the imaginary kiss landed on her cheek. She remembered a small boy that she used to blow kisses to in the neighborhood; he would scrape them off with the heel of his petite hand and blush. Grayson would giggle and he would run home. They did that every day when the boy got off the school bus, it was sort of a ritual. Grayson wished she could scrub the invisible peck from her complexion. But then again, she wished she could burn the man in the mask's face off with a blowtorch. Neither desire would be fulfilled any time soon.

"Goodbye." Bellowed the man, and he went on his way with a knife and a rope in hand.

J.J. hung up the cell phone she was listening to, and looked at the team that remained at the station for the time being, which was basically all they could do at the moment.

"Franklin Barnes' body was found in the same park that Rachael's body was, just a different section. Um, and the crime scene investigator would like to speak with a few of us about something."

Hotch stirred in his seat.

"Prentiss, why don't you and I go this time?"

"Ok, sir."

They both vacated the meeting room and headed toward the SUV that was parked outside the station.

When they arrived at the park, it was flooded with police cars and people of all different occupations, policemen, morticians, forensic investigators, and now, FBI, all coming together and forming a sea of chaos and disorganization. Aaron and Emily weaved through the mess and made their way to the body. There, they began to converse with the policeman that contacted Jennifer Jareau.

"We found his body like the little girls, bad scars, completely naked, covered in leaves and he was wearing stage makeup."

"Uh, Agent Jareau said there was something else you wanted to speak to us about?" Emily piped.

"Yes, of course. This park seems to be the key dump site, so we used some technology to see if there were any more bodies, just in case. We did not find any but we did find something that might be of use to you."

The officer traveled to his police car and opened the door. He picked up a cardboard box and set it down in front of the confused agents. Prentiss pulled a blue latex glove from her coat pocket and slipped it on her manicured hand. She leaned over the box and picked up an old puppet. Her lips parted slightly as she studied the toy. This one was a male, with untidy orange hair and an olive green, corduroy suit. She looked at the tattered plaything and noticed a carving on the bottom of its foot.

_Made in Paris _

Hotch peered over Emily's shoulder and at the toy. She leaned over again and placed it back into the box. She picked up another puppet. This one happened to be a woman in a blue dress and white apron. She had blond curly hair and was hand painted. The strings were tangled and knotted, her eye sockets were caked with dirt and her attire was stained. Prentiss turned the doll over and looked at the stitching on the back of the dress. It was a disheveled attempt at a embroider, but it read,

_Property of Gene. Master puppeteer._

"These were his puppets."

The man in the mask, formally known as Gene Dunfeild, sat in the front seat of his van. He peered over at the chaotic hole that once was an innocent park, although not so innocent to Gene. This is the very same park where he used to perform puppet shows in the trees, and wandering children would sit and watch the playthings dance across his makeshift stage. Gene would flick his wrists and make the Parisian marionettes tell wonderful stories. One day, though, his father found him setting up in the brush and kicked his beloved Leah, his favorite puppet, into the mud.

"Get a real job you son of a bitch! _Merde!_"

His father kicked him in the face, and stomped on Gene's puppets. That was the day that Gene finally had enough, he decided to give up, and he buried his puppets in the earth and never returned.

Gene's neck jerked at the memory.

Gene had given up on his father then, he went out to find a real career, and then his dreams were shattered like a bullet to thin glass. He saw his father, at a carnival, with an armful of brand new puppets. He was carrying them toward a grand puppet stage and began to get ready for the show. A red lighted sign blinked above the stage.

_James! Masterful Puppeteer!_

Gene grumbled, then screamed and jolted toward his two-faced father. He knocked the old man to the ground and put his large hands around his neck. Gene squeezed, until his father's eyes bulged from their sockets, and his face turned an array of colors. Soon, the life left his body and Gene stood up, proud and satisfied. He gave his father a good swift kick in the side, twitched his nose, and left the scene.

Gene remembered that afternoon, clear as day. He would never forget. _Ever._ He blinked rapidly and the memory faded, as he found himself in the van once again. He wiped away beads of salty sweat from his forehead and pivoted his neck toward the park. There she was. Leah. Her blonde hair, her dress, her, her everything, she was right there! A wave of anger suddenly came crashing down on the distraught man, he banged the steering wheel, writhed in his seat, and jerked the seatbelt.

"NO ONE TOUCHES HER! NO ONE!"

He let out a long, yet staggered breath as his eyes misted up. He peered out the window again and looked at his beloved Leah, but he did not stop his eyes. He saw the blue clad hand clutching her, and he traveled up the arm, he hit a shoulder, then a neck wrapped in a black scarf, then a face. _Her face._ She was ivory and had large, dark eyes surrounded by long ebony lashes. Her hair was tied in the back, and she had thick bangs. He could see that her hair was a deep, dark, brown, and could easily be mistaken for black from this distance. Her nose was pointed at the tip and her lips were pressed shut. He fiddled around for the knife under the seat, not taking his eyes off the woman, as if they were cemented to her. When he retrieved the blade, he lifted it up, pressed the unsharpened side of the cool metal to his broad nose, and curled the edges of his lips upward, forming a masochistic grin. Who said he couldn't change it up a bit?

"Prentiss carefully placed the shabby old doll back in the box, and removed the glove from her hand. She stuffed it back in her pocket, only to have Hotch reach in and remove it again.

"What are you doing?"

"You're going to need it, I want to you start looking at the body, while I put these puppets in the SUV. I will join you shortly." He flatly stated.

"Alright."

She snatched the blue glove from his fingers and made her way to the body.

Gene exited his vehicle after grabbing his mask from under the seat. He walked up the sidewalk and made his way to the edge of the woods. Gene stared at the green and brown, tangled, mess of leaves and wood, but he knew how to travel though without making a sound. He slid the plaster disguise over his face, and stepped into the trees.

The body was at the edge of the woods. Prentiss kneeled down near who used to be Franklin Barnes, beloved drama teacher, and lifted his lifeless arm. She ran a gloved finger over the thick stitches, and gently placed it down again. She put her hands on her knees and pushed herself up into the standing position, and peered over the array of heads in the park, to see if Hotch was coming to help her.

He was in perfect position. She was right there. Right in front of him. He stepped a hair closer and lifted his blade. Gene moved his arm back, and then plunged the knife into the woman's right shoulder. He pulled th bloody knife out of her, then proceeded to jam it back it, lower this time, and he repeated. The woman yelped, and her knees unhinged and she stumbled, blood coursing down her back; Gene soon realized that he had made a mistake, he had gotten too worked up over her and forgot that he was standing near a sea of cops. The woman choked on her breath and whipped her head around, she saw him. Gene began to run.

Emily winced at the sharp pain in her shoulder, and it continued to grow until moist warmth cascaded down her skin, she screamed, then lost balance. She turned her head, and saw the mask, it was worse than in the video. It was real, live, and right in front of her eyes. Prentiss grabbed her shoulder and started to feel dizzy. She took her hand off of her throbbing shoulder and wiped it across her pale face, then the park became blotchy, and she collapsed in top of Franklin Barnes. The world became muffled and the last thing she heard before she passed out was Agent Hotchner.

"Emily!"


	7. Chapter 7

Gene darted through the forest. He could hear the rush of footsteps not too far behind him. He ducked under some low- hanging branches, and jumped over bramble, and tree roots that grew above the ground. He clutched the knife in his hefty hand. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the handle tighter with each stride. Gene knew he had lost the policemen as he swiftly turned his head to look behind him. He saw nothing but snarled woods. He was in the clear, all he had to do was make his way back to the warehouse, and stay there until the initial shock of the event wore off. He would have to stare at those empty chains until he could have a chance to seize his puppet. He was going to get her. No matter what.

Grayson heard the screech of a metal door. _He's back._ All of the petrified human beings were awfully surprised by his lack of a new puppet. All the man held was a bloody knife. The man started to scream.

"IT'S WRONG! IT'S WRONG! IT'S ALL GOING WRONG!"

He knocked a rusty crate over, and scowled at the sound of it hitting the concrete floor. He then ran over to the metal chairs and picked one up. The man hurled the aluminum furniture across the room, and then picked up the other one and chucked it in the opposite direction. Both seats clanged as they slammed into the floor and the man merely grunted. He suddenly whipped around and came to the stage. The man lifted his colossal hands and slammed them on the wood, leaving an array of splinters in his palms. Then he let out a scream. It was piercing and it rang throughout the warehouse. Grayson grimaced and wished she could place her hands over her ears. She had never heard a man scream like that before. He dragged his bloody hands bloody hands off the edge of the stage and took hard, even footsteps until he reached the camera. He pressed a silver button atop the contraption, making a miniscule orange light blink on. He slowly took two staggered steps back, then spoke.

"Ok viewers, fans… FBI... I have made a mistake. I have set my eyes on a prize. A beautiful doll, with raven hair and ivory skin. I do not her talents but she enrages my senses, so she must be in my show. I have never felt this way before, and I know these feelings are going to get me caught. I have hurt the puppet, but one glimpse of her would be enough for me. The show is ruined. I mean I might as well have written that it would be ruined. My father was right; I will never be a puppeteer. But, I am not letting these toys go until I get my most prized doll. It is like when you want a new plaything, but your mother says you have to get rid of your old ones in order to receive it. Well come and get them. And bring the girl. We can make our own show."

He winked and took two steps forward. Before he could press the silver button again, Paul screamed for his life.

"HELP US!"

The man merely looked into the lens and said,

"Tick tock…"

He pressed the button and the light went out. He turned to the stage again.

"I have realized that although I used to have the need, the insufferable need to put in this little show. To teach the lesson that dreams can come true. I would have gotten it right sooner or later, I would have found the right puppets and it would have been a grand show, no doubt. But dreams change, and now I want something else, and I want her so badly it is excruciating. Now I am using what I have to get what I want. Let's see if you are worth it. Or maybe your lives don't really matter that much to them. Maybe you will die here and all are dreams will be crushed. Oh well, that's life…"

And he stumbled out of the warehouse.

Emily Prentiss' eyes fluttered open. The light was unbearably bright, so she squinted, trying to make out her surroundings. The room was spinning, and she felt like she was bouncing up and down. No, wait, she was, she was moving. An ambulance. She tried to open her eyes wider, but her vision was hazy. Finally she made out a tall shadowy figure, Hotch.

"Emily? Can you hear me? Are you ok?"

She blinked a few times trying to stabilize her vision. The room finally became clear. Then the memory flooded back. She remembered the woods, and the mask. She could see it vividly, but it was running a way. He was getting away! She jerked up abruptly,

"No! He's getting away!"

The pain in her shoulder was agonizing, and the sudden movement made her head whirl. Emily slowly lay back down.

"Prentiss, he's gone. You need to stay still, you have lost a lot of blood. Can you talk to me? Can you say my name?"

"Hotch, please, don't do that, I'm fine. Did he get away?"

She winced, contradicting her point.

"Emily Prentiss, I need you to focus on yourself at the moment. Do you feel any pain besides your shoulder?"

"No." she lied, "Did you call the rest of the team?"

"No, you passed out and…"

"Call them! Tell them we saw him!"

"And that you are hurt." He said, fishing his cell out of his pocket.

"That doesn't matter! We saw him Hotch, he was right behind me! I could have got him if I just…"

"Prentiss do not even start with that."

"It's true…"

She started to drift again. Hotch looked at the doctor sitting adjacent to him, on the other side of Prentiss.

"She is stable, she is just going to be in and out of consciousness until her blood replenishes."

Aaron nodded and pressed the phone to his ear.

A watery eyed J.J. ran in to the briefing room. Morgan and Rossi's heads jerked up.

"Jayge, what's wrong?"

"It's Emily, she was stabbed three times in the shoulder area, it was him, Gene Dunfeild, he got away, and Hotch and Prentiss are heading to the hospital now."

Morgan stood up and pounded a fist as lightly as he could manage against the wall.

"Damn!"

"Is she alright?" requested Dave.

"She lost a lot of blood, and is in and out of consciousness. They said that she will be okay. Hotch says she is more focused on the unsub than herself. We can see her once she gets to the hospital and gains consciousness again. I am going to call Garcia and Reid."

She left the room, dialing her phone.

Garcia looked at the blinking light, requesting that she answer the call, she tapped the button with her pink, glittery pen.

"What can I do for you dear sweet J.J.?"

Reid fumbled with a slinky in the corner as Garcia listened to the call. He flashed a confused face as Garcia changed her expression from her usual "Sexy Genius" to "Hurt and Worried". Reid tapped her shoulder, but only received a "hold on a minute" finger. Penelope pressed the button again and swiveled her chair so she faced Reid.

"Emily was stabbed three times in the shoulder by the unsub. She lost a lot of blood, and is in the hospital. J.J. wants you to fly back tonight."

Reid's face conformed until it resembled a sad puppy. A tear rolled down Garcia's rosy cheek, and he took her hand. His voice was wavy but he managed to say,

"It's going to be fine; we are going to get him. Now it's personal."


	8. Chapter 8

Morgan stared at Prentiss through the window. She was pale, well at least paler than usual and he could see remnants of a sweep of blood over her face. She had probably wiped her bloody hand over it. The dark maroon became more prominent against her white skin, and Derek was worried. There was a multitude of bandages around her right shoulder, and a few dark red spots were scattered over the gauze. J.J. joined Morgan.

"She should be waking up any time now."

"What are we going to do J.J.?"

"What do you mean?"

"How the hell are we going to get this guy? We have no idea where he is and even when he is right in front of us, he is smart enough to stab our agent three times, and still get away. I mean…"

"Morgan…" J.J. interrupted, "she's waking up."

Derek turned his head toward Emily. She stirred. Her eyes were fluttering open and she reached a hand to her forehead, she began rubbing her temples. She squirmed in her "bed" and started to sit up. Morgan glided past J.J. and burst into the white, sanitary room.

"Oh no you don't, princess, you stay still."

"Morgan, I'm fine, let me get up."

"Sorry sweetheart, no can do."

"Morgan, don't treat me like a child."

"Wouldn't dream of it, you are all woman. You are also a woman who just got stabbed three times. And that means that you need to lie down and shut up."

Prentiss scowled and tried to fold her arms, but an awful puncturing feeling took over her shoulder, she whimpered.

"Told you."

She wanted to tell _him_ something all right, but then J.J. tiptoed in. She gently closed the door behind her and whispered,

"Hey Emily, are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Jayge, I am fine! Everyone needs to stop worrying about me and start finding this guy! He might have taken someone by now, and who knows if the any of his living victims are alright and…"

Rossi walked in next.

"How are you?"

Emily Prentiss groaned and flung her head back on to the poorly stuffed pillow behind her head, making it spin.

"I'm fine okay? Everyone needs to get back to work! Hell, I need to get back to work! I can do it, really! I'm fine! It doesn't even hurt."

Derek Morgan took one of his fingers and gently jabbed it into the gauze bandages. Emily let out a painful hiss and then a small groan.

"Morgan!" scolded J.J.

"What I'm just showing you that she's lying. I just tapped her and she's in pain."

"He's right", Retorted Dave.

"The doctor wants you to stay for a couple more days." Agent Jareau broke to Emily in soothing tone.

"Days?" Emily practically shouted in response.

The tension was broken by a cell phone. Jennifer Jareau answered it.

"Hello? Hey Garcia… another one? What? He wants her? I'm no profiler but that doesn't make any sense. Alright, we'll look into it. Bye."

"What?", asked Prentiss, as she squirmed in her seat.

"You, hush" cautioned Morgan, "What?"

Prentiss made a face.

"There is another video, and I think we should, um go."

Emily protested, "No! Tell me what's going on!"

They left the room, one by one; Rossi was the last to exit.

"Get some rest", he said before closing the door.

Emily Prentiss simply sat there with her jaw extended, and her eyebrows curled in the middle of her forehead, giving her a Reid-like sad puppy face.

"_We can make our own show…"_

"_HELP US!"_

"_Tick tock…"_

The team was shocked. This did not match the profile what so ever.

"He needed to put on the show! That is what he needed to do! He could not have functioned without completing his task! This makes no sense!" Rossi was bitterly confused.

"He fell in love." J.J. muttered. Usually that statement would have been sweet, sugar coated, and it would give you butterflies. This statement was horrifying, disgusting, and made you feel nauseous.

A serial killer fell in love… with agent Emily Prentiss.

"She'll come, you watch, she'll be here, I know she will, she loves me, she does, I know she does, she has to…"

He paced back and forth, muttering the words,

"She loves me, I love her, she'll come, she will"

The man twitched spastically and continued pacing. Jessica piped up again.

"She doesn't love you. And if she did she wouldn't be able to get to you because we are in an abandoned warehouse. IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE!"

"SHUT IT RED!"

"My name is Jessica…"

"Shut up! You can't talk to me like that! I own you! You are my puppet and I will control everything you do! Everything you say! Is that clear?"

"No. it's not."

He became frustrated. His face converted to a shade of deep crimson. He took his massive foot and began kicking the ground, releasing dust and dirt into the air. The remaining puppets stared at him in a combination of awe and confusion.

"No. it's not."

_That repulsive little girl_, thought Gene. He soon reminisced about the event that led him to this. He saw his father, kicking his beloved puppet, Leah, in the dirt. She was such a beautiful girl, and he treated her like a piece of garbage. As he became more and more enraged, he began kicking like in the flashback, one kick for a broken dream, one for the emotional pain his father caused him as a child, one for the electric shock, one for holding his head underwater, one for stripping him down, one for beating him, one for mom, one for Leah, one for dad, one for the little girl, one for the man he killed, one for the gun, one for the knife, one for the blood, one for the screams, one for the beautiful blonde puppet, one for Red, one for the black man, one for his sick mind, one for who he wanted to be, and the last one for the stunning woman of his dreams…

It was mutually decided that Prentiss was to be sent home, between agent Hotchner and Dr. Richards at the hospital. Spencer Reid had just walked off the jet when his phone rang, J.J. had asked him to pick up Emily and drive her to the airport. He happily agreed, as he was heading to the hospital to visit her anyway.

Spencer walked in as Emily struggled to put her coat on, wincing and hissing in pain.

"Hey, um, let me help you with that."

"Hey, Reid!" she looked pleasantly surprised, "No, no I got it, I'm fine." She gasped at the soreness in her shoulder, not catching the expression of pain in time. Spencer ignored the demand to leave her alone and wrapped her in the black coat. She looked down, minutely ashamed at the need for assistance.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Uh, do you want to head out to the airport?"

"No, I want to go to the station."

"You know you can't do that."

"When you got shot in the knee you got to help with the cases, why is it any different with me?"

"I don't know…"

"That's a surprise."

He smiled at her, and motioned for her to follow him out the door.

"How are we going to find him?" Morgan prompted, yet again.

No answer escaped from any of the BAU member's lips. Spencer Reid burst through the door.

"Hey Kid."

"Welcome back."

"Hi, Spence."

The habitants of the room greeted the boy genius all too glumly.

"Hey, guys, did you find any…"

"No."

"Oh. Well Emily's on the jet back to Quantico, and Anderson's going to drive her home."

"Good was she any calm…"

"No."

"Ah."

Spencer sat down in a black office chair. Morgan passed behind him and ruffled his hair. Again, no one knew what to do next. The silence was broken by Aaron Hotchner's cell phone.

"Hotchner… Hello, Chief Strauss."

**a/n hey readers, I know I haven't put any authors notes in any other chapters, so I thought I should do that in this one, so I obviously do not own criminal minds or any of its characters, and I really (x1000) appreciate reviews, I have three so far and they like made my life! So I hope you enjoy and I will update soon! Bye!**


	9. Chapter 9

Emily Prentiss sat on the jet. It was uncanny how silent it was. How lonely. She usually would hear the rapid flipping of pages of a book Reid might have been flying through, the shudder of papers as Rossi or Hotch would go through the case file, the beep of the coffee machine as J.J. would gladly make the brown stuff for the team, the faint hip-hop beat strewing from Morgan's music player, and the soft breathing escaping from everyone on the jet. Now all Agent Prentiss heard was the faint roar of the engine, and her own breathing. A yellow pill bottle sat in front of her containing painkillers. She had not taken one since she received them. Emily did not want to admit it, but it was a pride thing. She did not want to seem weak, even if she was the only one there. Her mother was an ambassador for god sakes, she was in the FBI, and she needed to be strong, no matter how bad her shoulder hurt. Emily knew that those little white pills would help. She knew that there would be no shame in popping one in her mouth and dulling the pain. She knew it, but something was holding her back, and she left the little yellow bottle in the exact same place that it was for the last hour.

Why couldn't she stay on the case? Why did she have to go home? No matter how much her shoulder hurt, her mind could still function. Why didn't they interview her? She had the closest encounter with the unsub. These questions raced through her head as she peered out the small window of the jet. They were close, as she could see recognizable landmarks. She grabbed the yellow pill bottle and threw it in her go bag that was sitting next to her. It made a satisfying clacking sound as it hit the bottom of her luggage. The pills seemed to stare at her, but she would not give in, she knew it was stupid, but she still would not give in.

Gene sat in the corner of the warehouse. He was deeply hurt, as he finally came in contact with the reasons why he did this. It was all because he was hurt, and he wanted to feel that he had all the power. That little voice inside his mind, telling him to stop, grew louder and louder, but he still could not rest. He became enthralled with thought and soon, he soon developed a touch with his subconscious. Now he really became more knowledgeable yet less understanding about what was happening to him. Why he was drawn to these certain people. Why, no matter how much he wanted to, he didn't kill Jessica. He remembered his blotchy childhood, and this time, the enjoyable parts.

He remembered watching the children, his own age, in the park, watching his father. He loved playing with the children. One day a small dark skinned boy came up to him and said,

"Vous n'avez pas d'amis, vous? Je vois que vous assis ici tout seul. Voulez-vous rester avec moi?"

_You have no friends do you? I see you sitting here all alone. Do you want to sit with me?_

"Bien sûr, et j'ai des amis"

_Sure, and I do have friends._

"Alors, pourquoi êtes-vous tous les battre? Je ne pense pas que les amis sont censés vous battre."

_Then why are you all beat up? I don't think friends are supposed to beat you up._

"C'est un secret, mon nom est Gene. Quelle est la vôtre?"

_It's a secret, my name is Gene. What's yours?_

"Je suis Connor. Ma mère m'appelle, je pense que je devrais y aller. Gene Au revoir!"

_I am Connor. My mother is calling me, i think i should go. Goodbye Gene!_

And the boy ran away. Gene looked up at the stage, and stared at the black man.

"Connor?"

"My name is Paul." He said the words, hard and clear.

"Connor, thank you for talking to me, but you ran away. Why did you run?"

"My name is Paul!" he said it again, this time, stronger, and angrier.

"You didn't really want to be my friend. You just felt sorry for me. You pitied me!" he became enraged.

"I am not Connor, I did not leave you. I am someone that you took hostage, and I need you to let me go."

Gene walked toward the man, with images of the little boy named Connor in his head. He reached for the knife stuck in his left belt loop. He climbed the stage and he held the blade to the man, right between the eyes.

"You will not leave me again."

And he slashed the man's face, arms, and torso.

Grayson wailed. She couldn't help it. She was listening to the man ramble on about someone named Connor, and now he was ripping up the man. Blood poured out of Paul and onto the floor of the stage. Grayson began shaking uncontrollably, and she could not scream anymore. Her throat was raw and it stung, as did the scabbing gash on the bridge of her nose, but that all seemed miniscule compared to the agony, the now deceased Paul, had endured.

Prentiss had arrived at the station and reluctantly boarded a federal issued SUV. Anderson was in the driver's seat, staring a t Emily, who was glaring out the window.

"Are you alright?"

"Drive, Anderson."

He stepped on the gas and made his way toward Prentiss' apartment.

Garcia called Hotch and notified him that Emily Prentiss was on her way home, and did not claw anyone's eyes out in the process.

"Good. Did you receive any updates?"

"Sorry sir, but I will call you the second I do."

"Thank you Garcia."

"Yes sir."

She hung up the line, only to have it ring again.

"Hello dear sweet person in need of my awesomeness."

"Hey Baby Girl. I think it's time to just go out on a limb here, because I'm about to rip my scalp off waiting here, not doing anything."

"Watcha need hot stuff?"

"Warehouses in the Ocean City area?"

"Is that a question?"

"Pen…"

"Hold on… there are hundreds, but I can do a search and see if any have been abandoned, or had any suspicious activity."

"Go for it."

"I don't see anything of interest, but I'll run a few more searches and see if I get anything."

"Good."

"You sound frustrated."

He hung up and Penelope made a pouty face. She had finished making the copies, and decided to take them to Strauss' office. She stood up in her neon orange heels and clicked her way to the other side of the bullpen. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in, Garcia." Strauss announced in a monotone voice.

"Hello, um, Hotch said to give you these copies of the evidence."

"Yes, good, it seems that the team has come to sort of a gridlock."

"They are doing everything they can."

She mumbled something inaudible and looked through the folder that Garcia had handed her.

"You may go."

"Oh. Uh, ok, thank you."

"For what?"

"I don't know… um..."

Penelope quickly stumbled out of her office, breathing heavily and rolling her eyes. That woman just made her exceptionally confused and breathless. She returned to her office.

Another day had passed. No call from Garcia saying that she had miraculously found his location, no sudden jolt from Reid notifying that he had already figured it out, no more bodies, no more evidence, and no more, well anything. The case had come to a standstill, and every single member of the BAU, and the OCPD had become exceedingly restless and frustrated.

The phone rang.

Agent Jareau raced to answer it.

"Hello? Ok." She turned to the team. "Another body was found, Paul Dowry."

"The Park?"

"Uh- huh"

The team turned to Hotchner, who was happy to give out directions again.

"Morgan, Rossi, come with me and we will check out the body, J.J. I want you to notify Garcia, and check up on Prentiss."

Three heads nodded and the room was evacuated, J.J. being the only exception.

Dave Rossi, Aaron Hotchner and Derek Morgan scrambled out of the shiny black SUV and traveled toward the all too familiar park. Aaron turned toward the other two men and whispered a message.

"Be on the lookout. He might be here hoping that Prentiss had come with us. He might be peeking out looking for her, so be extra vigilant, okay?"

The two men nodded and peered around, looking through thick foliage and trees, but no mask to be found. They made their way to the body.

"Oh my God." Escaped from Derek Morgan's lips.

He was lying there naked, riddled with large deep gashes across his arms and torso, and many smaller slashes oh his face and neck. He was drenched in his own blood, and his eyes still had a look of sheer terror, as they stared back at the agents.

"The wounds were inflicted both before and post-mortem."

"Overkill" concluded Rossi.

Derek leaned over and placed a napkin over hand. He reached into one of the gashes on his leg and pulled out a bloody piece of paper.

"A note?" prompted Hotch.

"We'll have to get it processed. Maybe it tells us where to find him."

Morgan placed the saturated paper in a plastic evidence bag and continued investigation the body.

A deep red picture burst onto Garcia's middle screen. It was the note found on, well in, Paul Dowry. Garcia pressed her lips together and widened her eyes as she read,

_Dear FBI,_

_I want her. The one with the dark hair and the light skin. I believe her name is Emma, or Emily, is that right? Either way I know she loves me, and I love her. I need to be with her at once. I need to hoist her up on these chains and make her dance for me. She will be mine, or else I will keep these puppets here forever. I have concluded that my mind is deteriorating and I cannot seem to stop my impulses. You will get another body soon, and when you discover it, you will bring her with you. She will come to the edge of the forest, and I will take her, then I will release the remaining puppets. If you do not bring her, or you try to outsmart me, they all die. These kids have bright futures, so you better save them, or else you will be a failure, like my father… and myself._

_-The Puppeteer_

**A/N Dun dun dun =) I got another review! Yay! I really appreciate them so review review review! Yeah so I hope you really like the story so far, and I have lots of ideas, so I will be updating as soon as I can! Bye!**


	10. Chapter 10

"Well this is easy now, right? We just wait for him to dump a body and we catch him, he says he's going to be there." Provoked Morgan as, once again, they sat in the briefing room, a place they all had gotten to know all too well.

"It may sound easy, but I still think it's dangerous. If we chase him, he might have a gun, or he might go and kill the other hostages, I don't think that we should take chances." Lectured J.J.

"Okay, let's all bring it out into the open; we all know what we are thinking about, who we are thinking about, Prentiss." Rossi blurted from his seat.

"Well we can't let her come back and go with him." Stated Hotch.

"But we sort of have to…" Mumbled Reid and everyone gazed at him. "If he doesn't see Emily there at all, he might just flee and we may never catch him. He would kill the remaining hostages and change his identity again, and he could be wiped right off the map."

The team was silent. This was a tremendous decision and it all fell on the unit chief's shoulders. Hotch tensed at the thought.

Garcia had been staring at the red note for three hours now. She drummed her fingers on the desk, bit her lip, and did anything she possibly could do to distract her and what she was thinking. The thought, though, had completely taken over her, and she decided to act on it. Garcia grabbed the extra copies of evidence she made, just in case Strauss wanted another copy and placed the three folders and four DVD's into an embroidered denim bag next to her desk. She stood up and took a deep breath. She was going to be in deep with Hotch for what she was going to do, but she knew for the sake of the case, she had to.

Garcia traveled out to the parking lot and met her orange convertible. She tossed the bag into the back seat and climbed into the car. While putting the car into ignition, she took another deep breath, fixed her auburn bangs, and stepped on the gas.

Gene, once again sat in the corner of the warehouse. He knew something was deeply wrong with him, but he had no control over what was happening, all he knew was that if he did not do what his mind whispered to him, then we would most definitely kill himself. He had dreams of that occurring. He would take a shotgun, and hold it to his temple and pull the trigger. An explosion would occur inside his skull and he would feel only a millisecond of pain before it was terminated. Then he would stir, and find himself back on his cot in the warehouse. He would look down onto the floor and see the piece of black artillery staring back at him.

_Do it. Do it!_

"NO!"

He shrieked, not realizing it was a memory. He jolted his head around when he heard one of the puppets gasp. Red. He would usually get up and run his meaty fingers through her hair, and watched as she tried to keep a straight face. He could always feel fear inside, though. He recalled his mother, who also had long red hair, and a spicy demeanor. She was only around until Gene was four, but he could remember her like it was yesterday. She would always adorn white cotton dresses and gold sandals in the summer, and boots in the winter. She would laugh all the time with Gene; he could still remember her laugh, a small delicate cackle that was certainly contagious. She would assemble with him on the grass and soak in the sun, making her skin bloom with light freckles. She would run her thin fingers through Genes freshly washed hair and hold him close. They would both close their eyes and felt the sweet summer breeze on their backs. Then the screen door would slam.

_Daddy's home._

She would change then. Transform into a hard, shell of a woman, with an unwelcoming face, and fear behind her eyes. Then she would follow James into the house, Gene would continue sitting on the lawn. He winced as he could hear his mother scream, and his father grunt. He could hear faint banging and crashing, glass breaking, and cursing. He would shake, and cry.

"Maman?"

Grayson heard the man whimper the childish word.

"Maman?" He said again.

He rose from his spot and walked toward the stage, as if in some sort of trance.

"Maman?"

Gene saw her, his mother, pale and breakable,

"I'll help you. This time Maman. He can't hurt you anymore."

He walked up to Jessica. He elevated her arm and traced the stitches up and down. He then took his finger and outlines the bruises on her complexion.

"I know papa did this to you, but I couldn't help you, I'm sorry. I should have helped you. I remember him carrying you outside and putting you in the river. I should have saved you."

"I am not your mother, my name is Jessica, and you can save me."

"How Maman?"

"Take me off these chains and to the hospital."

"NO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO LEAVE!"

"Don't you want to save me?"

"Yes."

"Then do as I say."

"But you left me. You left me!"

"No! I didn't leave you!"

"Yes! You did! I remember! You went to the river with Papa and never came back! You left me alone with that monster! You left me alone with my father!"

Jessica knew what was coming. She saw him lift his fist. It was clenched to tight that small veins were protruding out near the knuckle. Jessica was surprised than she even had enough time to witness this before it all went…

Black.

Garcia stood at the door with her denim bag. She raised her hand and knocked on the door. The door cracked open, and then was released all the way. Emily Prentiss stood there in a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt, which did not suffice in concealing the mass of gauze bandages around her shoulder. Her Hair was tied up and she was clutching a box of cereal to her chest. Her eyes conveyed like the usual pissed off Emily Prentiss look, _Let me do what I want or bite me._

"Garcia?"

"Hey Em."

"Uh, come in." She blinked.

She opened the door and with a wave of her hand, guided Garcia into her apartment. The living space was exceptionally clean and organized, but it did have a warm and hearty side to it too, yet it all remained classy, much like Emily herself.

"What are you doing here?" Emily asked squishing the cereal box into one of the cabinets.

"Um, y'know, just… in the neighborhood."

Emily nodded and told Penelope to sit in the den. She glared at the denim bag, and found a way to ask the itching question.

"So… do you have the case files in there?" she mumbled shifting her vision to her light colored carpet.

"I couldn't stand not having you in the loop; you deserve to know things too."

Emily suddenly jumped up and crashed into Penelope, giving her a one- armed embrace.

"PG I love you!"

"Love you too honeybun." She responded, practically peeling the fellow agent off of her. Emily then plopped down beside her and reached for the denim bag. She pressed her lips together until they turned white, Garcia knew she was in pain and gladly pulled the bag closer the injured agent. Emily pulled out the pictures she had not seen before, and the two DVD's.

"Another body? That leaves three left right?"

"Yes, do you have a DVD player, love, we, well you can watch the videos."

Yeah, sure, upstairs. Uh, if you want to stay down here and find something to eat while I watch these."

"Awesome", Garcia smiled.

Prentiss grabbed the shiny silver circular objects and padded up to her room, pulse racing, and palms sweating.

**A/n Once again I do not own Criminal Minds =( but anywho, I got like three more reviews! And they are all really sweet and like give me butterflies! Love love love it! (Well now you know I'm a teenager from all the repetitive "likes") but anyway, hope you like it so far, and I will keep going! I am really excited for the end, how about you? Peace out =)**


	11. Chapter 11

Prentiss practically flew down the stairs.

"Garcia!"

Penelope choked on a pretzel she was eating, due to the startle.

"What?" she coughed.

"I have to get back to Ocean City, I can't not be there."

"But Emily, you can't, we'll be in deep dirty laundry with Hotch, and Strauss, and believe me..."

"But they need me!"

"That may be the case, but Emily, they will find a way to get him without you."

"Garcia, you came all the way here to show me those video's, to show me that letter and you expect me to sit here and do nothing?"

"Well I was hoping…"

"I have to get over there, I'll call J.J. she can talk to Hotch, or Reid, I bet he knows that I need to be there…"

"Emily, please don't do this."

But Agent Emily Prentiss was already heading back upstairs to prepare.

Grayson wondered who this new doll was. She wondered what she was, what she did for a living, and what she looked like. Was she strong? Grayson hoped so, as she soon will be in as much danger as the rest of them. The "rest of them" seemed so small now, though. Grayson had nothing better to do that think, than to reminisce about her life, it may be over soon. She got over the initial state of shock, the blatant emotion of fear, the small yearning and hope, and the overpowering sense of frustration and anger. Now she hung there, almost emotionless. Her mind was blank, and all she could do was think of the past, thinking about the future had become much more tedious.

Grayson had a tough childhood. Her father left her and her mother when she was seven. He had gotten mad that Grayson was a shy and withdrawn child, and Delilah, her mother, would only pay attention to her. Grayson could still hear the words as they ring in her ears.

"All you do is smother that kid, you never say "I love you" to me anymore, you sleep in her bed, and you have cursed me out more than once when I suggested therapy for the little brat. You know she is just doing it for attention! She is as smart as a whip but she decides to look like a sad little puppy so she can get all you're freakin' attention!"

Then he left. Closed the white door right behind him, and left. He sent child support every month, but never a letter, never a birthday card, never another word from him. Then three days after Grayson turned thirteen, a note came to the door.

_Delilah Brass:_

_We are sorry to inform you, but you're ex-husband, and Grayson's father, Elliot Brass, has died. He had driven home 25__th__ of February, while intoxicated and crashed. His car flipped over and he suffered severe burns and head trauma. We did keep him alive for two days, but sadly he has passed. We are deeply sorry._

_Showell Hospital staff_

Delilah threw the letter on the coffee table and plopped down on the loveseat.

"Serves, you right, bastard."

Her words were spiteful, but her voice was monotone and weak. Soon, fat tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and she buried her face in her slight hands. A thirteen year old Grayson had watched this from the doorway of her bedroom. When her mother fell asleep on the loveseat, Grayson ambled over to the letter and gingerly picked it up. As she read, the only thought that came across her mind was: _Was he drinking because it was my birthday? Did he remember? Did he feel sorry?_

Because of the death of Elliot Brass, Grayson's dance lessons ceased. Marisol DePonte had been extremely disappointed, losing one of her best dancers. Grayson soon lost all will to try and continue dancing, it was just another dream yet to be crushed. Grayson trudged to her less than challenging school five days a week. She endured countless rude comments about how her hair was not straightened like the rest of the girls, or how she did not have the best clothes, or how she always got straight A's, yet never talked to anyone. No one knew what was going on inside the young blonde girl. Inside was a hole churning with grief and slivers of hope and bravery. Grayson then returned to her less then welcoming house, the walls were stripped of any artwork, or family pictures, the shelves supported only necessary items, and there was a gaping area in the entertainment center, that the television once called home. The space screamed _Well look at me, look what you can't have! _Every night Grayson made dinner for her and her mother, who was rarely home by supper. She then would lie down in her bed and think about things, she would dream of becoming a dancer, she would recite the letter over and over in her mind "Delilah Brass, we are sorry to inform you…", sometimes an eidetic memory was awful, and she would wish that her mother would be happy again. Delilah Brass worked at a paper factory down the street, making minimum wage, and barely getting by. She slaved over the heavy machinery, working several hours of overtime, and practically exhausting herself, making her deteriorate from the inside out. She would come home around midnight, with a cold plate of food on the kitchen counter, and a note from Grayson. She would check in on her daughter, then fall asleep on the loveseat.

This cycle went on for a year. On February 25th, Grayson's 14th birthday, the world shattered. It was like a piece of fine china, thrown against a brick wall. And that brick wall was cancer. Delilah, had been feeling that lump for some time now, but never thought she, the loving strong Delilah Brass, would have cancer. She couldn't. She had a child! A job! A life! She couldn't have cancer. But the lump got bigger, and soon, she slipped into a droning mental state. She did not even recall Grayson birthday. All she said that morning was,

"We need to go to the doctor."

And they did, cold dry hand in unsteady sweaty hand. They walked in to the cold, discerning hospital and waited. Delilah followed a chipper young nurse into a screening room, eyes glazed over, and lips clamped shut, arms unmoving, taking even, steadily paced steps. Grayson waited in the reception area, bringing her legs up close to her chest and planting her forehead between her sharp knees. She waited.

"Stage three breast cancer." Said a white haired, grim looking physician, his white coat and light skin made him seem all one color, blending him with the walls, "Your mother has stage three breast cancer. _Wow, he is really pale, he could be mistaken for a ghost, white, white he is very white "_Miss? Did you hear me?" _So pale, like the walls, the walls, the walls. _

Grayson could not bring herself to think about, never mind accept the four words the doctor repeated. "Stage three breast cancer" _The walls, the walls, the wa… _Grayson collapsed.

Grayson's large green eyes popped open, realizing she was still in the warehouse and that the previous thoughts were just miserable memories. Jude stared at her.

"Are you okay?" He whispered, his voice ragged and small.

"I guess so."

"You had your eyes closed for a long time, and you were crying."

Grayson blinked her round eyes, realizing her lashes were riddled with sparkling tears, and her cheeks were moist and cold.

"I didn't even realize."

"Grayson?"

"Yeah, Jude?"

"Are you scared?"

"Well, as much as I say I'm not, as much as I say I know we are going to get out of this, I _am_ scared. Jude, I am scared out of my mind."

Grayson used the boy's name excessively, making the conversation personal.

"Me, too. I don't want to sound like a lame kid, but I miss my mom and dad. And my dog."

"You have a dog?"

"Yeah, a Collie, Russ."

"That's awesome, I wish I had a dog."

"We are hanging in the middle of a warehouse, facing our deaths, and we are talking about dogs?"

"Yeah, Jude, yeah we are."

They shifted their eyes toward each other and smiled, and for a millisecond they felt happy.

**Hey, sorry i didn't update in a while, well, i had it written, but i did not upload it! sorry again! anyway, this is more of a backstory chapter, but i think it's sad and sweet :) hope you enjoy, and i will update soon-ish :)**


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